I walk as a stranger in my own land frozen a thin layer of ice covers a season left behind — a surface of frozen sticks separate socially distant from the tree whence they were born life spliced between locked out neither being space nor time just waiting for the thaw. ∞ Submitted as part…
Returned
My writing called bring a return metamorphosis answered beating its wings drying the flow a seasonal cycle fall into spring in a jar once of Play-Doh six months an insectarium transformed a living statue a bathroom constant awaiting a vernal spark life parsley wilted dried…
Enter Leo
You are a master criminal a canine thief you’ve stolen the rug under my feet once steady in grief memories you’ve rappelled burgled my bed cunningly chewed through a rawhide safe camouflaged yourself in dirt vandalising my garden my chair my everywhere entwined you in me two…
My Room
My room was a house on fire a room — aglow in the red REM disappearing embers dimming into night It was a room of my own preparation kindling split and stacked over yesterday news papers I’d spark It wasn’t a games room it wasn’t a Sunday afternoon…
A Review of Tomato Bread
pa amb tomàquet a perfectly constructed crust is halved and sliced soft, slender, rustic cracked of Catalan wisdom toasted under the Barcelona sun oiled with the green, fresh garlic august, pungent rubbed into the empty yeasted pores the sharp crumb, boar tusks, peaks of wheaten teeth grate ample tomatoes ripe from the thirsty vine sweet,…
Pops
Wrapped in grey overcast the sweet wind of spring clad in the sallow thatch spun upon the air puppy feet a naked belly my one my only holds my shoulders with calm against a conspiracy of idiocy of sit and stay closing eyes diving into…
Again
You are here today Again now upon my lap my hands in you when you passed into a tomorrow today yesterday is Again born into a day birthday candles extinguished with a spark a bark peals back the dark your face printed on your name you awake the silence with a look a belly rub…
Sex upon a Vine
Seed of my hands Red fruit of my toil A child of my lands Umami bred of soil A poison apple forbidden flesh a stained chapel in wedding dress Woven heirloom culinary ring born of June bloom my pasta’s king You’re sugar and sweet gob smacked bitter acid in mince meat sour before the heat…
M ~
Marble open mouth Parabolic infinity Entry me invites. ∞ Submitted as part of “National/Global Poetry Writing Month” (#NaPoWriMo #GloPoWriMo). Today’s prompt: Day Twenty-Three: write a poem about a particular letter of the alphabet, or perhaps, the letters that form a short word. Doesn’t “S” look sneaky and snakelike? And “W” clearly doesn’t know where it’s going! Think…
Shoot the Birds
For my father, always as a child, the morning hour had gold in its mouth — and so roused of my bed, hot coffee in his thermos and hot chocolate in mine, he’d drive me up Black Mountain, tell me as we flew the nest, “Keep your eagle eyes peeled for the grouse” speckled in…
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